Sympathy For the Devil
by Ripper
Summary: A young man chases a black-winged bastard and learns not to talk to strangers. Angsty bollocks. No Angel.


Yeah, yeah: I know songfics are about as classy as a Sue nowadays. But I've a soft spot for the damn things. Besides, the devil has all the best music. This began as a Lyric Wheel challenge for The Toadies' "Possum Kingdom", and turned into something different once I decided to use one of my all-time favourites.  
  
  
I saw His wings first. A lot of the other kids wore them, little pink or silver ones that were nothing but limp, tattered bundles of faux feathers by the end of the night. But His, His were special- huge, sleek and as dark as that perfectly messy sable hair. Beautiful. I dunno what he was doing there. He looked far too classy for Hellfire Hall. A bit poofy too, like those old pictures of blokes in wrap-around cloth collars in the class poetry sets that Jeanie used to rip out and keep in her locker. But oh, He was a sight. A man of wealth and taste, as they say.  
  
He didn't dance- well, nobody fucking dances anymore, except raver scum, but He didn't even go near the pit. Just sort of...*moved* from side to side with those thin hips, standing there, hypnotic like. Anyway, I couldn't stop staring at Him. None of us could. You felt sort of, drawn to Him. No, not drawn, exactly. I dunno. More like... when there's something in a movie that seems really brilliant and you want it badly, but you know if you ever saw it in real life you wouldn't live to tell about it. A friend of mine once told me this daft theory about anti-matter and the urge for chaos, and some kind of butterfly. It stuck in my mind, the anti-matter stuff. It just seemed weird having a nothing. Anyway, I thought she was talking out of her arse at the time, but watching this bloke now I started to understand what she meant...He was a hole in time. A wrong thing.  
  
Anyway, the bands weren't bad. They didn't do their usual Nirvana slaughter; apparently, it would be "disrespectful" to play their covers so close to this "tragic time". The way the bands here played, I suppose it would be. I was only there to pull, anyway. Problem was, all the girls there were part of the Very Fucking Tragic Cobain Coven, walking around with their black armbands and black veils and black Pleather pants and everything. You'd think a week would be long enough for the stupid cows to get over him, but no. Depressing. Of course, He wore black, too...but it looked so good. Expensive, like them on telly. Clung to Him in all the right ways. I felt so bloody naff in my standard black T-shirt and jeans. At least Davey Boy had loaned us his jacket- I loved that fucking thing. Black and beaten up all over. Made me look well hard.  
  
He first brushed up against me, casual like, when I was on my way to the loos. I turned around quick like anything, but I couldn't see His eyes behind the sunglasses, so I just walked on slowly to the filthy bathrooms they have at the Hellfire Hall. I felt Him watch me the whole bloody way, and when I turned around in the doorway I saw Him looking dead at me. The reddest, longest tongue I've ever seen flicked quick across His teeth and He grinned like he'd found a secret. Didn't know what to do. I just felt me face turn pink while I slipped into the Mens', then held the line up for a bit while I had a wank in the stall. Hellfire's so fucking nasty. Used to be quite good, but they changed management or something, so it went shite. Sticky floors and cigarette burns in the old velvet seats and smelling like cat's piss. Anyway.  
  
I couldn't see Him when I came back out. In a way, I felt a bit relieved, like I'd come close to something I shouldn't've. It was still a bastard of a night; only pulled once with some limp, flabby little slapper and a fat faggot who smelled like cheese, and I still had school tomorrow. I decided to call it a night. Me mind wasn't on it- I kept thinking of pale skin and dark hair. I wanted a long, red tongue. I wanted wings.  
  
He must've been waiting for me. Followed me maybe, I dunno. It's funny, but I was nearly expecting it, and the second I felt a hand grab my arm, I knew it was Him. He only had to pull once, hard, to bring me into the alley with him. Didn't say a word. The glasses were gone now and He looked at me with yellow eyes like I was something to eat. Turned and walked- no, not walked, exactly- just *moved* away. He didn't ask me to come. Didn't need to. A few of the kids from the concert recognised Him as they staggered past, all the bright young things throwing up their sickly-sweet mixers in the gutter, making it run candy pink and neon orange. One girl blew Him a sloppy kiss and collapsed with the giggles. I just followed Him under the stars, I don't know how long for; it didn't seem important. The wings had gone. I wanted them back. Wondered if I had imagined them.  
  
He didn't look at me again until we came to the Thames bank, down under one of the old bridges. Thick, evil-smelling water sludged past and he turned to me. There was a cold, sharp hand on my cheek, and He smiled.  
  
"You're a pretty, pretty boy...Is this your natural colour?" Voice like dark chocolate with knives in.  
  
My lips were dry for some reason, and as I licked them He grinned wider.   
  
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, 'tis. Real blonde, me. 'ere, why don't we go back to mine, er-?"  
  
"You will call me Crowley. Understand?"   
  
I just nodded. "My name's Randall-"  
  
"No, it bloody isssn't!" He hissed, sudden like, hand tightening around mine. "You'll answer to Angel, and nothing elssse." I couldn't speak- my stomach was getting cold as my head turned warm and swimmy. It was starting to get sort of hard to focus. He leaned in closer, smelling of nothing at all. No, not nothing- hard, harsh, wood alcohol, and a bloody lot of it, but not a damn thing underneath it. "Now, what's your name?"  
  
"A-angel."  
  
His eyes glowed. Literally. "Yessss..." He whispered in my ear. I knew I ought to be bloody scared- crazy bastard was probably about to rape me and kill me and I dunno what else. Didn't really seem to matter any more, though. Nothing mattered except those eyes, glowing golden fire in the dark.   
  
A long, supple tongue curled around mine, sharp teeth nipping at the end. "Come on, Angel," He muttered when I pulled away to breathe. "Talk to me."  
  
"What...what do you want me-"  
  
The blow stunned me before it even began to hurt, and the ground came rushing up to meet me. I spat out a bit of filth from between my teeth and shook me head to get rid of the bells. The second I began to crawl away He was on top of me, flipping me over, straddling me, grinding His bony pelvis into me. A hot, searching mouth pressed over mine. It didn't smell of nothing now, stank like old blood and dog food, with a burning-hair smell starting to choke the air.  
  
"Talk to me, Angel. Do you want me? Tell me you want me."  
  
"I- I want you."  
  
"You want *who*? Say. My. Name." His thin, strong fingers pressed into my neck, and I thought of dying.  
  
"I want you, Crowley, I want you, I want you." My throat was starting to burn. Bloody hurt.  
  
"Good, Angel, my little Angel." He nipped at my chest, panting and hissing. "Keep going..."  
  
It depressed me not a little that the last thing I was ever going to see would be the underside of a dank bridge, crumbling stone laid long past, graffiti courtesy of someone calling themselves "Mista Hardkorr". Another slap echoed off the water and walls. "I said keep going!" He ground harder into me and I shut my eyes tight against the pain, trying not to think of my home, my bed, my Mum, my life, my fucking stupid life...  
  
I spat the blood out of my mouth and He licked it from my cheek.   
  
"Keep going. If you want to live, then you want *me*."  
  
Running out of things to say. "Fuck, help me, please. Oh Jesus...I want you, Crowley. I-I need you, um, I want you...I love you." And it stopped.  
  
Nothing.  
  
All I could hear was harsh, rapid breathing. I think it was me. Then the pressure across my body eased. When I opened my eyes, I couldn't see Him anymore, which scared me worse than before. I tried to call out to Him, don't ask me why, but my voice was a raspy croak. Then the crying.  
  
He was crouched in the filthy muck, leaning against one of the pillars, head in His hands, sort of dry-sobbing and whispering something. I crawled over to Him, trying to lick my bleeding knuckles at the same time. I dunno why I did that. He just looked so fucking small and thin and miserable, I s'pose. I could see His ribs through His tight shirt. Reached out to try and touch Him, but He just pulled away like I'd burnt Him and kept whispering.  
  
"What? What are you trying to..."  
  
"I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to...I didn't...I'm sorry." He looked at me with horrible, beautiful eyes that stung, that burned. "Help me. Jesus, help me. Just..." He rubbed His face again- it grew longer and thinner as I watched. "You have to go. I didn't mean to scare you, you...you have to go. *Now*."  
  
  
  
...  
  
  
I spent the next few days in bed. Mum thought I'd been in a fight or something, but she knew better than to say anything. Didn't go out at night for a good few weeks. Dunno why- not like I'd be likely to see Him again or anything. It just seemed different.  
  
I dream about him still. Every night, almost. Sometimes he kills me. Sometimes we fuck. Sometimes I kill him. Sometimes it just ends with me running blind through the night and him under the bridge, crying. And sometimes we hold each other, me and him, beneath the moon while we wait for something- I like those the best.  
  
  
Sometimes I have wings.  
  
  
  
  
Please allow me to introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
I've been around for a long, long year  
Stole many a man's soul and faith  
  
And I was 'round when Jesus Christ  
Had his moment of doubt and pain  
Made damn sure that Pilate  
Washed his hands and sealed his fate  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game  
  
I stuck around St. Petersberg  
When I saw it was a time for a change  
Killed the Czar and his ministers  
Anastasia screamed in vain  
  
I rode a tank   
Held a general's rank  
When the Blitzkrieg raged  
And the bodies stank  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guess my name, oh yeah  
What's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah  
  
I watched with glee  
While your kings and queens  
Fought for ten decades  
For the Gods they made  
  
I shouted out  
"Who killed the Kennedys?"  
When after all  
It was you and me  
  
Let me please introduce myself  
I'm a man of wealth and taste  
And I laid traps for troubadors  
Who get killed before they reached Bombay  
  
Pleased to meet you   
Hope you guessed my name, oh yeah  
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game, oh yeah, get down, baby  
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guessed my name,   
But what's confusing you  
Is just the nature of my game  
  
Just as every cop is a criminal  
And all the sinners saints  
As heads is tails  
Just call me Lucifer  
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint  
  
So if you meet me  
Have some courtesy  
Have some sympathy, and some taste  
Use all your well-learned politesse  
Or I'll lay your soul to waste   
  
Pleased to meet you  
Hope you guessed my name,   
But what's puzzling you  
Is the nature of my game  
  
Tell me baby, what's my name  
Tell me honey, baby guess my name  
Tell me baby, what's my name  
I tell you one time, you're to blame  
  
What's my name  
Tell me, baby, what's my name  
Tell me, sweetie, what's my name 


End file.
